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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981294">both wet and wild</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greel/pseuds/greel'>greel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camp Unplug - Freeform, M/M, Underage Drinking, Ye Olde Vine Times</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:27:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greel/pseuds/greel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Camp Unplug, there's an after-party. And after the party, there's the hotel lobby*.</p><p>*shore of a lake</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danny Gonzalez/Drew Gooden</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>both wet and wild</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Drew drinks red-and-shades-of-orange drinks from low glasses. He’s always had more than you’d think. You’re one Pacifico short of losing your shirt, heart pounding, gradations in red stretching over your forehead, your collarbones, your ribs. (“I think you’re allergic to alcohol,” Cody cautions, low, and this is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. “For fucking sure,” you agree, laughing so hard you’re crying.)</p><p>Insofar as this is your life now, you are often surrounded by attention sinks – powerful black holes, sucking voids that want eye contact, and you’re… in the middle of it, certainly, but not <em>in</em> the middle of it. A piece of it, but maybe a piece that can be safely tweezed out. All of this to say: The more attention being paid around you, the easier it is to find yourself gasping for cool air on a balcony somewhere. Alone, unless you’d brought Laura, but even then, probably alone.</p><p>So this night in Elkhorn, while everyone else is drunk in the cabins, you’re not gasping for air on a balcony. But you did wade calf-deep into the extremely still lake, pushed your palms down into it, and rained dirty lake water over your forehead, your hair, your shoulders. It’s dripping down in rivulets behind your ears, making you shiver. Drunk, drunk, drunk.</p><p>And that’s when he becomes obvious to you, alone and dangling one leg off the dock, giving you a smile that looks kind of like a frown.</p><p>“What?” You laugh, not yet clocking that anything unusual could be happening. He shakes his head. “You came out here after me,” he says plaintively, and of course you didn’t, but you can’t even tell him to get his head out of his ass. (Too drunk.) You say, “I’m sorry, Drew, but I am no more here ‘after you’ than you’re here ‘after’ me.” (This does not make sense.)</p><p>He shakes his head, slaps his palms against his basketball shorts, and says, “I think I’m gonna throw up.”</p><p>“Oh,” you laugh. He doesn’t look as amused. “Get in here with me,” you yap, “coward.”</p><p>He slips down the dock ungracefully and plunks into the shallow water with a dramatic spray. The water’s frigid and he’s grimacing. He wades until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you, deep enough that water has started to leach into his shorts at the knees. When he’s stopped, it’s awfully quiet. Bugs and frogs and shit, a whoop that’s certainly Lauren’s in the far distance, but honestly, startlingly quiet.</p><p>A fish skims the surface underwater and you both watch the ripples diffuse. Minutes pass, or hours, or years.</p><p>Drew pulls his elbow up and sets it to rest on your shoulder. The gesture seems loaded. You look over at him. He’s staring straight ahead.</p><p>“Thanks for coming to get me,” he says weakly. (You did not do that.)</p><p>You cannot figure out what he wants. You try to put him out of his misery and shrug his elbow off, stretching your own arm out across his back, thumping him hard on the spine. “I’m drunk,” you announce. Like an answer.</p><p>He snorts.</p><p>You look back over. He’s watching you this time. It’s dark and your contacts are dry in your eyes, but you’re pretty sure you can see his gaze wobbling from your face to your neck to your soaked clothes and back.</p><p>“Just two drunk wieners in a leech pond,” you hum. He makes a face. “Okay. Let’s not be drunk in the lake,” he mutters, checking the muck around his ankles and making as if to leave.</p><p>“Hold on,” you say, and your arm is suddenly making a real attempt to hold onto his shoulders. He shifts, restless now, but relents. His pupils are gigantic. He makes a quiet, confused noise.</p><p>It is not possible to separate the way you feel about him from the way you feel about success, recognition, validation, creative fulfillment. In the morning, this will be an obvious problem. Tonight, you cannot figure out why your heart is beating in your palms.</p><p>“I still think I might thr-” he starts, but does not get the chance to finish.</p><p>Drew’s the only other dude you’ve ever kissed, and it’s unbelievable that this would be the moment, that these would be the circumstances. But his lips are so soft, and he’s opening his mouth, and you feel like you’ve just won a game. You could easily do this for the rest of your life. Strike that. Hold up.</p><p>“Do you know what’s crazy,” you gasp, pulling away from him and pushing your forehead into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Feeling your mind float away into space, you start to laugh into his skin. “Do you know,” you try again, wheezing.</p><p>He looks like he is enjoying your hysterics about one hundred times less than you are. “Danny, what,” he whispers, nudging you, like a nudge is going to snap you back.</p><p>“I don’t know where I think I’m going to go next,” you gasp, starting to cry with laughter – again – as is your way. “What am I going to <em>do</em>?”</p><p>He seems very concerned. He raises an uncertain, cold hand to your jaw. “You could do – Danny – you could do anything.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” you wheeze, shaking your head. His hand is warming up against your skin. “I meant, like –” This is so funny. You’re going to black out. “Imagine going back and fucking. In the room. With Victor. There’s nowhere to <em>go</em>.”</p><p>Drew starts coughing and does not stop coughing. “Danny,” he coughs urgently, eyebrows knitting, swallowing about one million times. “We’re not going anywhere to fuck, holy shit.”</p><p>“<em>Tell</em> me about it!” you shriek, wishing you could stop laughing for even a second, regretful that this is the funniest shit in the entire world. You've cried out your left contact. Drew’s an indistinct blur.</p><p>An indistinct blur that doesn’t want to fuck you.</p><p>An indistinct blur that is starting to laugh, and is leaving the lake, and is pulling you by the elbow, and is collapsing on the shore with you in tow. A drunk, Vine-making idiot with confidence problems and dependency problems and attitude problems, who doesn't want to fuck you.</p><p>“Last time,” you say very seriously, and lean in to change his mind.</p><p>He meets you halfway. His tongue touches your lip and you startle, pulling back. His eyes are tar pits, wide open. “Close your eyes,” you say sternly. Before he does, he whispers, “Sorry.”</p><p>Pushing him backwards, you try to tell him there’s nothing to be sorry about. With your palms, your tongue, the hot weight of your body, you try to say: There’s no possible way this could be bad. There’s no possible way this can be anything except correct, and clear, and infinite. There’s nothing for me but this, whatever this is.</p><p>Just two drunk wieners on the shore.</p>
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